


beautiful, beloved

by dolcelust



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Multi, RMS Titanic, Religion, Sexuality, larry stylinson - Freeform, sort of historically accurate
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-01
Updated: 2019-06-01
Packaged: 2020-03-30 00:47:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19031350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dolcelust/pseuds/dolcelust
Summary: Louis Tomlinson, upper class elitist, finds himself aboard the “ship of dreams” with his family and fiancee. But upon a chance meeting with Harry Styles, a young artist, the world he once knew is flipped upside down.Or alternatively, the one where Louis is Rose and Harry is Jack.





	beautiful, beloved

The ‘ship of dreams’ is what everyone was calling it.  _ The Titanic _ , alternatively, was the first ship of its kind, starting its voyage in Southampton, England, and ending in New York. 

_ The Titanic _ , in itself, was a  _ char au ciel-  _ a chariot to the heavens. A means of transport that would carry its passengers to where they desired most. Or at least that's what everyone believed. 

Despite the fact that  _ The Titanic _ was not something that held magical or otherworldly qualities, it still held a feeling of mystery and wonder. It was this, however, this mirage of mystery and wonder, that made the ship err on being undesirable.

That is, to Louis of the illustrious family, Tomlinson. Everyone in Britain knew the Tomlinson’s, and similarly to the boat, the family shared the same sense of wonder. They were as well known and respected, if not more so, than the royal family themselves. Yet, despite their notoriety, they were fairly private people, held up in their castle, rarely leaving except for special circumstances.

Louis Tomlinson, their only son, was determined to be a man of mystery as well. He would show up to mandatory events, take a couple of expectatory photos and as soon as one would see him, he’d sooner disappear into the background. Few knew him well, and even fewer could say they’d heard the sound of his voice.

So it was of much surprise when the Tomlinson’s had accepted the invitation to come aboard the Titanic, even asking for an extra spot for Louis’ fiancée.

Lillian Gray, of Philadelphia, Pennsylvania came from a family of similar status to the Tomlinson’s but in the United States. She and Louis had met during school where they studied at the University of Buckingham.

One would think that she’d be the person to know Louis more than anyone else, but it seemed as though she knew just about the same as everyone else. Her and Louis’ relationship and soon-to-be wedding was more for social purposes rather than love. A sort of, Marie Antoinette and King Louis XVI, type of thing, if you will. (But don’t worry, neither end up beheaded).

Louis had little to say in the matter, and although he liked Lillian well enough, he would have much rather preferred marrying someone for love.

His parents didn’t understand that, however, as they’d been the product of an arranged marriage themselves. They kept telling him that “the love would come later”, and it wouldn’t matter in the end. Louis was never one to argue, in fact, he was rather submissive, allowing his parents to make the decisions for him.

It was always hard for Louis. He knew what the people thought of him. Knew that they thought him to be aloof and unfriendly. Louis didn’t mean to act that way, it was just how he was raised. His parents always told him that if he acted like someone, like someone important, people would respect you. It was just that with him acting like that he came across as, well, a pompous dick.

Deep down, Louis had a good heart- a big one, at that, but little got to see that side of him, with the exception of his younger sister, Rose.

Louis loved Rose more than he loved anyone else, and would do anything to protect her. She was, truly,  _ une rose délicate.  _ A rose in its most pure form- a rose for whom Louis would die for. And this Rose… well she absolutely adored Louis. 

It was just the two of them for the longest time. Or at least, that’s what it felt like. Their parents were always busy, doing who-knows-what behind closed doors. It had always been like that- they knew their parents loved them, but work always came first. Always. So Louis made sure to spend his time entertaining Rose in any way he could.

Even now, as they packed for their voyage, Louis’ time was spent chasing Rose around the house.

“Oh, come on Rosie,” Louis wandered around the room, pretending to search for her despite him knowing she was behind the curtain. Louis looked around the corner, and under the dusted piano that hadn’t been touched in years, then in the closet in the opposite direction of where Rose was.

Rose covered her mouth and let out a little giggle, as Louis swung open the closet to find nothing but a bunch of coats that were probably worn once, and thrown back there. Louis turned, smiling in response to her laugh.

“Hmm… I think I heard something from over here…” Louis moved towards the curtain, his arms out as he grabbed Rose, accidentally including some of the fabric of the curtain. Rose wiggled around until the curtain fell around her, as Louis yelled, “Gotcha!”

Rose let out a screech as Louis swept her up into his arms, and giggled uncontrollably as Louis held her, kissing her on the cheek. The laughter died down, however, as their mother came into the room looking rather annoyed.

“The car is picking us up in twenty minutes. Now is not the time for… this,” she said sternly, “Louis, dear, are you all packed up? We’re meeting Lillian at the dock.” Louis nodded his head, yes that he was ready, and was about to say something before his mother interrupted saying, “perhaps put on a different coat? That one is from last season. Just throw it into the closet back there,” she gestured to the closet he had opened just moments before.

Louis let out a sigh, but obliged. 

“And you Ms. Rose,” she said to the little girl whose thumb was in her mouth and her other hand holding onto Louis’, “you need to be on your best behavior, you understand?” Rose nodded, “yes, mum.” 

“And please,” she said at last, before walking out of the door.“stop sucking your thumb.” Rose immediately dropped her hand, looking embarrassed. Louis noticed, and picked her up again, kissing her on the head. “Don’t let her get to you, little one.”

“Lou?” Rose said quietly, “promise you won’t leave me?” Louis looked at her surprised. “What ever could you mean by that, Rose?”

“Just promise, okay?” She looked up at him with her big, round eyes, softening Louis instantly. “I promise.” Rose looked content, as Louis carried her out of the room to where their car was awaiting.

 

★★★

 

To say he was down on his luck would be an understatement. Harrison Styles, or Harry, as his friends called him, was a Rembrandt in the times of Van Gogh… a struggling artist, if you will. Not that Rembrandt had struggled, but the times and the art had changed, and Harry was, well, left behind; he was almost two centuries too late. He was talented, there was no doubt about that, but the times of baroque portrait art was slowly vanishing. 

Harry had heard about the art scene in the United States. Knew that it was more accepting, more diverse, more… everything. It was simply, more. Harry’s idealized version of the United States seemed to be a dream; he envisioned it as this elusive place where everyone loved and accepted everyone else. It was a lovely dream, but painfully untrue. Not that Harry knew that, and it  _ was  _ just a dream, nonetheless.

Anything would be better than England, Harry had reasoned. He was tired of it all. Tired of the boring, old, rich folks thinking they ran everything. That they owned everything and anyone. That a person who wasn’t wealthy, wasn’t worthy.

But there lies the issue. To be wealthy  _ was _ to be worthy, or at least, that’s what everyone made it seem like. And for Harry to achieve his dream he needed all that money could buy… and all that money could buy was a €12 ticket for  _ The Titanic. _

Harry knew that there was no way for him to get the money himself, but perhaps there were other ways. Harry wandered aimlessly around the dock where  _ The Titanic  _ was docked, as the sun starting to glimmer across the water.

There was a strange feeling in the air- perhaps it was caused by the lack of people, but a feeling of hopeful optimism and warmth enveloped Harry. But soon enough, the once empty street began to fill as people made their way to the ship, and that feeling of warmth turned into a feeling of suffocation.

The crowd was a mix between those who were fortunate enough to go on it, and those who wish they could. Harry was part of the latter. Harry knew how he looked, how bad it looked, asking if anyone had an extra ticket.

He also knew that no one just had a ticket lying around that they were willing to give up, and yet...

“Do you have an extra ticket, sir?” Harry asked a man similar in age, walking with a little girl, whom he presumed to be his sister. Before the man could answer, however, an older looking woman grabbed the man by his arm and pulled him away, looking at Harry in disgust. The man shot him an apologetic glance, before following the woman away.

Harry’s eyes lingered on the boy a few minutes longer as he tried to rack his brain on where he knew him from. There was something undeniably familiar about him but he just... couldn’t place it.

Harry attempted to intercept a ticket from a few other people with no such luck. Harry sighed, it was hopeless and he was stupid enough to believe that someone would just give him a ticket. He looked down at himself, and his clothes, a little worn and raggedy, and was forced to accept the fact that he just wasn’t getting on the boat.

Harry started to walk away, his spirits sinking, when someone tapped him on the shoulder. Harry flinched, awaiting a nasty comment, but instead got, “I hear you’re looking for a ticket?”

Harry turned to see an elderly man, graying in the hair and the beard, leaning on a cane with a pipe hanging out of his mouth. The man smirked a little, his eyes scanning over Harry.

“I, um, yes. I am,” Harry stuttered a bit. The man pulled out a crumpled ticket from his pocket and waved it in front of Harry’s face.

“It’s all yours.” Harry looked at him surprised, and naively reached up to grab the ticket from his hand, before the man rejected his advance, pulling the ticket just out of his reach.

“It’s all yours,” he repeated. “If you can beat me in a game of cards.” Cards? Harry stared at him dumbfounded. The man continued, “one hand of poker.”

“One hand…” Harry repeated. And what did he have to lose?

“Alright. One hand,” Harry agreed, the man gesturing to a small shack near the port. It was filled with crates and fishing nets. A small group of men were chatting quietly when Harry entered the room, but upon the sight of Harry the talking died down, as a defeating silence settling over the room. One man, whom, Harry had to admit, may have been the biggest man he had ever seen, stood up, towering over him.

“Who do we have here?” He asked gruffly, eyeing Harry up and down. “Harrison- uh Harry,” Harry mumbled, struggling to maintain eye contact with him. The man looked at him again, and then patted him on the shoulder, a small smile forming across his face. “Well Harry. You’re the fifth person who’s been in here today, so maybe you’ll have better luck than the others.”

Harry nodded, hoping the same of this man’s sentiments. The old man gestured to Harry for him to come sit, while an older lady shuffled a deck of cards. A pile of chips were stacked to his left, and two other men came and sat next to him. So now there were five people seated around the table.

“Harry, this is Helen, George, Charles, and I’m Frank,” the elderly man introduced. Harry nodded his head in greeting.

“One round,” Frank said, to which the others grumbled in agreement.

“Now,” Frank said staring at Harry, “do you know how to play?” Did Harry know how to play… well, he didn’t and he tousled internally on whether or not to be honest or to bluff. After all, wasn’t poker just a game of bluffing?

“No,” Harry said at last, “I don’t.”

“Well,” Frank chuckled, “you better hope for some luck, then, my friend.”

Helen burned the top card of the deck, then continued to deal two to each person, clockwise. Harry flicked his eyes back and forth between the others, and once seeing what they did, he followed suit, lifting the cards so only he could see them. A red queen of diamonds and a black three of spades. Harry had no idea what that meant, but he didn’t think he had a good hand.

Helen tosses the top card again, then flips over three cards.

 

Black Queen of Spades.

 

Red Ace of Diamonds.

 

Red Two of Hearts. 

Frank starts the round, asking for a replacement card, George doing the same, and Harry following their lead. He gets ride of his three of spades as Helen deals him another card. Black Queen of Clubs. Charles sighs, and then, he too, asks for a replacement card.

As the first round concluded, Helen turns over another card.

 

Black Two of Clubs. 

 

Frank pushed a chip in towards the middle.

“Check,” George says, and Harry, confused, went to look at his cards although he knew exactly what he had in his hand.

“No,” Frank laughed, noticing Harry.

“He don’t mean you have to check your cards, he was saying that he’s not betting anything.”

Harry’s cheeks flushed red as the rest of the people around him started to laugh, Frank smiled a little, but it wasn’t a cruel smile, instead it was a warm one as if they were sharing some kind of inside joke. 

“Now it’s your turn… you can check like George did, call, raise or fold.”

“Uh, raise,” Harry said, placing five out of the fifteen chips he had into the middle. Frank raised an eyebrow. Harry truly didn’t know if he had a good hand or not, but again, he really had nothing to lose…

“Well shit,” Charles said, “I fold.”

And as she had done the previous three turns, Helen turned over the last card.

 

Red Ace of Hearts. 

 

Frank gives one last look at his cards, before pushing seven chips into the middle, “raise.”

“Call,” George says, pushing seven of his own into the growing pile of chips.

Harry sighed, “I’m all in.” Pushing the rest of his chips in. And that was that. There was nothing Harry could do about it now, he’d either go back to being a nobody… or he’d, well, continue to be a nobody but at least he’d be going somewhere where maybe that wouldn’t be the truth.

“Well,” Frank said, “I guess now’s the moment of truth…”

He flipped over his cards first revealing an Ace of Spades and a Three of Clubs.

George having flipped over his, revealed a Four of Hearts and a 6 of Spades. Or in other words, he had nothing. George shrugged, “wasn’t losing real money, so might as well stay in.” 

The two turned towards Harry expectantly as a few people who were casually watching were now anxiously awaiting the reveal. Harry simply had to beat Frank’s three of a kind and the ticket was all his. Simple… it was so simple really and yet Harry’s heart was beating at a million miles per hour as he flipped over his own.

“Unbelievable…” Frank said, and then started to laugh.

“A full house, I haven’t seen one of those in awhile.”

“I… I don’t know what that means…” 

“What that means is,” Frank said getting up, “you’ve just won yourself a ticket."


End file.
